I READ TAMMY'S BLOG
WAY BACK WHEN
BEFFORE THEN
A FIREND OF A FRIEND
I WANT THIS
FOR ME
THE LOVE
THE INSPIRATION
THE FOREVER
NOT FROM ME
BUT TAMMY
on the way to the red carpet, we traipsed through an underground tunnel-type-thingie. the irony of "backstage underground tunnels" always makes me laugh: me in my millions of bling, honey in her dashing ensemble, waltzing through puddles of watery cola, and crunching through the dropped and forgotten pretzel pieces. i remember looking at honey, surprised at how flattering the navy color looked on her. i have never been a fan of navy, and just because it is "in" doesn't me me appreciate it any more than i already do(n't). but there, in an old-cabbage-stinky tunnel between hollywood way and some other street, i realized that indeed, honey looks very good in navy. and on we walked. i was trying not to trip over my hemline that was 6 inches too long in front. (mental note: don't listen to the lovely people who advise that the longer hemline is more flattering... I'M the one who trips up in my own train the entire night. terribly awkward.)
at one point in the flourescently lit tunnel, i caught the distinct smell of a greasy kitchen. that sort of "cheap-dish-washing-soap-and-french-fries-and-old-tequila" scent that only comes complete with white tops and black and white checkered pants. i wore that outfit when i worked in the purdue cafeteria summer of '93. you do what you gotta do to get out of dodge, right? so that smell, that sort of wet, tornado-celler-y smell... it wafted right by me and as old visions of purdue passed on by, the memories from the eagles club smacked me upside the head. clear flashbacks of the eagles' kitchen came thundering back to me like those southwestern storms that swallow you without warning.
the eagles. a lodge of sorts. very good-ol-boy driven, as it was explained to me. mom cocktailed there on tuesday, friday, saturday nights, and wednesdays and thursdays if they needed her. the moments in the tunnel reminded me of that kitchen where the rough-faced men with friendly smiles let me wander. if i was lucky, a kindly dishwasher might let me have the last measly piece of four-day-old apple pie that would otherwise meet the trash bin later in the evening. as i tripped over my hemline once more, i wondered if i'd ever get away from being a waitress' daughter. not that being a waitress' daughter is bad: i just thought that there might come a point where the reality of that seems further away than a sneeze. but truth be told... no matter how red the carpet is, no matter how big the check is, no matter who is across the table from me, it seems that there are parts of my life that just don't fade. nothing changes on the red carpet. if you got beat up in fourth grade, that doesn't go away once you hit the fame punching bag. no amount of makeup or diamonds chases the truth into some other experience.
at the end of the tunnel, steven stopped us and said, "It's just on the other side here." the tunnel fell silent without our scuffling and mumbling. i put on my heels, gave my slippers to some lady who was also carrying my breast pump, and looked at honey. there are so many times in life where we have no words to say to one another. where there are no words that can convey our feelings any clearer than a deep look into the others' eyes. and so we fueled up in our gazes, and passed a smile back and forth. wall or no wall, door or no door, the anticipation was a deafening roar in my ears. i heard the drip of water somewhere, and it still smelled like the eagles again. and right then i wondered if at the end of the night, would i feel any different than that moment right then?
i watched honey nod at steven, he nodded to us, we nodded back, we all stood around nodding and then the door got a little stuck. it was very heavy. no dramatic entrance. i think i even stumbled over my hemline again. already my feet were reminding me that i was born to wear slippers.
the carpet really was red, and this carpet was the width of a boulevard in hollywood. and up and down this red carpet were cameras. cameras of all kinds. at the other end of the carpet was the theatre we needed to get inside. the goal was to hit as many cameras and microphones as possible. well... honey's goal was to speak and smile for as many people as possible, my goal was to not get misplaced. only my hemline was too long. and as people constantly stepped on it, i had to spend my time facing backwards, one hand on the back of my dress, saying politely to strangers, "I'm sorry... You're on my dress." ten minutes on the carpet, and my feet were already cursing. and we still hadn't stepped in front of the cameras yet.
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